


Let it Snow

by fawatson



Series: Christmas at the Clubhouse [8]
Category: RENAULT Mary - Works
Genre: Christmas, Gen, ITOWverse, Metafiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-25
Updated: 2009-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:16:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fawatson/pseuds/fawatson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Secretary and Aunt Olive chat while the children build a snow fort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let it Snow

**Author's Note:**

> This story was posted originally to the [maryrenaultfics](http://maryrenaultfics.livejournal.com) LiveJournal community as a gift to the members for Christmas in 2009.

Peals of childish laughter floated in; hearty male laughter drifted out.  Inside the ballroom, the Companions were taking full advantage of the Christmas mulled wine.  Situated as she was on a sofa by the French doors, the Secretary could see outside into the garden while she monitored the festivities.  It had snowed heavily earlier; by afternoon deep drifts had surrounded the house.  The children were all building a snow fort.  Alexander was directing the operation; the inner walls had been erected quickly and now they were working on the outer defences. 

“Shortbread?  Or would you prefer a piece of Christmas cake?” 

The Secretary looked round.  Olive held out a three-tiered cake stand. 

“We also have Batten­berg.”

“Battenberg?”  The Sec­ret­ary looked at the selection.  She recognised the shortbread and Christmas cake, so the square slices of pink and yellow checkerboard must be the Battenberg.  Curious, she took a slice. 

“So nice to see a man taking an interest in his son,” remarked Olive, sitting down beside her.  “It shows quite a different side to Alexander, one I didn’t see in last summer’s celebrations.  Of course, that party was just for adults—not like Christmas.  I always say children _make_ a Christmas.”

“Yes ... I suppose that’s true.”  The Secretary wasn’t quite certain how to respond.  After a few mouthfuls she had discovered that—being covered with marzipan—the Battenburg was exceedingly sweet.  She really needed something to wash it down, but Olive had brought neither tea nor coffee.  The overwhelming sweetness actually made it difficult to talk.

But, of course, there wasn’t really any need to say anything.  Olive wittered on regardless, uttering platitude after platitude, while the Secretary mulled over the morning’s events:  that _look_ on Lucy’s face when Laurie asked where his father was:  “He’s never had to go away for Christmas _before_.”  Indeed, she’d felt unexpected sympathy for Lucy when Laurie had looked directly at Mr Straike and asked who ‘that man’ was.  Fortunately, Alexias had saved the day by suggesting a game of hide and seek, while Sokrates had drawn the minister into a discussion about morality.  They were still at it, she noticed, as she looked across the room; though Lucy seemed to have disappeared.  She couldn’t see her anywhere. 

“She went up to her room for a little rest,” explained Olive, when the Secretary asked.  “After all the work she’s put into the celebrations, it’s no wonder she’s somewhat tired.  She was looking a bit drawn, so I suggested she have a lie-down.” 

“Yes, of course,” murmured the Secretary. 

“Just as well, really,” said Olive.  “Michael’s here now.” 

The Secretary looked just in time to see Laurie fling himself at his father, yelling joyously.  “Daddy, Daddy!”  Michael swung him high, laughing.


End file.
